


Bottle Cap Medals

by Siobhan_Schuyler



Category: White Collar
Genre: Community: whitecollar100, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:50:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siobhan_Schuyler/pseuds/Siobhan_Schuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Peter tries to get some work done on a Saturday while keeping an eye on his son. Or trying to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottle Cap Medals

**Author's Note:**

> 300 words exactly, written for whitecollar100's prompt #101, "Tree". Title inspiration from the best treehouse club of all time, G.R.O.S.S.

Peter sits back in his deck chair and cracks open his beer, smiling up through his shades at the patch of sunny sky visible through the leaves. El's really done nice work on the yard. Not a bad set-up for having to work on a Saturday.

He flips the file open on his knee and throws a look across the yard at Sam, playing in his treehouse with a couple of the neighborhood kids, a boy a couple years Sam's junior and an older red-headed girl. Who have both been secretly but thoroughly vetted by both Peter and El. And Neal, hilariously. 

As far as Peter can deduce, there's a serious candy situation going on in the treehouse. He observes as Sam talks animatedly to the other two, who stand rapt, listening to Sam like he has them hypnotized. Peter watches Sam distribute the loot as he speaks, smoothly slipping an extra palmful into his pocket. 

Peter purses his lips, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "SAM."

Sam turns. "Yeah dad?"

" _Play nice_ ," Peter warns, communicating the rest of the message with a well-practiced pointed glare.

"I am!" Sam protests, grinning a little too innocently. Blue eyes out in full-force, he looks way too much like his daddy when he's up to something, or like his mom when she wants something from Peter. Peter feels very often ganged up on by his family.

He sighs and looks back down to his file, then at his phone when it buzzes on the table next to him.

_Home in ten. My turn to make dinner. Ask S to show you the new trick I taught him! xoxo Neal_

Peter hangs his head to rub at his brow and swears under his breath. 

These Caffreys will be the end of him.


End file.
